"Zero to Sixty" by Vincent Truman

"Vinvox 1" by Vincent Truman

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O Drama

Could it in fact be as simple as this?


I am reading "Bambi v. Godzilla" by David Mamet. Instead of a two-act play, this book is a multi-chapter description of screenwriting, and more deeply, why the hell there are screenwriters. Among Mamet's theories is this paraphrased nugget: things do what they do. The huskie in Alaska has one thing it loves doing: running in packs. It really does - you never see the guy on the sled brandishing a whip, because there's never any need to. The huskie is all about the run. Similarly, our cats are all about the hunt. No matter how dull we make their lives - through kitty treats, cat trees, petting, etc. etc. - they always revert back to being hunters. To extend this to people: our core is drama. Love thy neighbor all you want, but it is impossible to get away from drama.


Thus, we have screenwriters. They are the journalists of the heart (which itself sounds like a bad movie title).


Recently, I've been feeling pretty lousy. The New York trip, as mentioned, was frustrating; in the months following my (successful) play, "The Tearful Assassin", I've written no less than four full works, but none have had that extra thing that made them mine (I thought more than a few times I was chanelling the wrong muse and was actually transcribing someone else's play); those closest to me - and now you - know that I've been going to couples' therapy for the last few months (heartily recommended, especially if you like being an emotional pinata); I have felt the people I admire wouldn't want to work with me, and the people who are coming up now wouldn't want to work with me, either. I've felt isolated for a few weeks now - it is almost a pity I didn't make it a resolution for 2009, as I would have been able to chalk up an overwhelming success.


Almost as a side note, but worth mentioning, is that I haven't been able to quite get on the I-Hate-Rod-Blagojevich bandwagon. It is not that I have heard the Tale of the Corrupt Politician long enough to not be impressed anymore; it is rather that I have empathy for the guy. I work in a law firm as an administrator (in that grey area above secretary and below paralegal) and one of my group's biggest functions is outsourcing: that is, fucking you out of your job for fun and profit. And I do it without blinking an eye. Like a veteran in a slaughterhouse, I merely zap the cow in the head, step through the feces and cut it up like Norman Bates while thinking about what my next purchase on Amazon is going to be. And I'm small potatoes. I'm not running a state. I can only imagine what bizarro deals and side deals and backdoor deals go on at that level.


So you've gone through these four paragraphs like a good sport, so let me tie them together for you now. I think it's possible that, because people love drama, that the end result is the chaos we see around us every day. And it isn't because of *those* people and *their* drama; it is our own versions of drama, our own versions of being like the huskies (all about the _________ [insert your favorite thing]), that, when multiplied by millions, equals the world as it is. The incompatability of individuals gives rise to insanity on an epic scale. Witness the current war on a feeling we are raging throughout the world.


I'll put myself back on the intellectual chopping block here: I cannot think of anyone I dislike when I first think about it; however, when I review events in my past, I can pick out people that I refuse to talk to anymore. That's pretty close to "dislike", surely. There was one woman I knew last year who I felt a bond with on an artistic level - I envisioned working on bizarre, creative, challenging projects together, maybe even reinventing the opera into a postmodern equivalent - but then she hooked up with a married guy. That's it. Cut. Snip. Can't have that in my life.
Ah, but wait a minute, I think to myself. Back in the day, Married Woman was one of my four major food groups. One such particularly unhealthy dalliance lasted three years. It feels odd for me to now say 'can't have that in my life' because (a) it's not in my life and (b) see (a). And, when I really, really think about it, I don't bear that person any ill will at all. In fact, me not talking to her anymore won't accomplish anything other than - and this is a stretch, admittedly - reinforce her own level of self-worth. People who see married people are a sad breed, no matter the gender. I know. So why not talk to her? Because I'm punishing her for resembling an aspect of me that I'd rather keep hidden. End result? Drama!


As I play with this theory of "the huskie is all about the run" and apply it to people and situations in my head, I find it fits just about everywhere. The older lady who works near me who swears all day, when she's not talking down to her printer or other inanimate objects - is she miserable because she actually likes to be miserable? Hmm! There is something to that. If you're miserable all the time, no one can really piss you off - you're already there. I think of Janelle, a kindred spirit who lives in New York. I was glad to see her perform - though I did not see her on the stage. She was "on" most of the time and, personally, I loved that, as that's where I am most of the time as well. She likes being "on", and, like me, has chosen a partner who is quite happy with not being "on." And the examples and lists go on and on.


Let me really tie this in with one more quick reflection of your humble blogger. I mentioned above that I was feeling isolated. That I fear people don't want to work with me. That, worst of all, I am a law firm administrator (in that grey area above secretary and below paralegal, just to remind you of that important bit). And where is my favorite place to be, as a writer? On the outside looking in. Observing. Commenting.


Ah, I think. Maybe I shouldn't be feeling down about being isolated. Maybe I should say, 'whew -- made it!'

Those Damn Dirty Jews

I almost didn't title the blog what I did, for fear of some idiot hate-mongers sitting around Googling vile phrases in order to find their spiritual bretheran ("I know, let's plug in rotten chink bastards and see what we get! Yee haw!"). But, at the end, I liked the title and its throwback to the original "Planet of the Apes."


I was Googling one day - not vile phrases, at least in this case - and found some really disturbing stuff that at first I couldn't believe. Here is one link: http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3329995,00.html

The article's booming headline: "Rabbis: Modesty slacking, stand guard!: Thousands of haredim participate in conference warning of slacked modesty amongst women. Married men only attend conference; learn about allowed shirt length, skirt size, wigs."

The article begins: "A rabbi at the “Strengthening and Awaking on Modesty” conference held Saturday night attended by thousands of haredim said, “One of our generations biggest obstacles is tight clothing… each and every one of us must stand guard and make sure his wife and daughters’ clothing are modest, both in how much they cover the body and how they are worn.” "

First, the funny bit.

Here's two of the rabbis who were opining about womens' clothes --------------->.

Now, when I think Fashion Police, I think Mr. Blackwell. I do not think of Alec Guiness in a Davy Crockett hat alongside an exhumed Larry Fine with a dreadbeard. These guys are commenting on fashion and clothing? I hope they don't become experts on food next, or we'll all be eating feces and calling it a tasty brown omelette.

Secondly, I am completely irritated by this. When one asks 'who's the leader of the club' when it comes to being marginalized, insulted, derided, and just plain murdered, the Jews are tops. They know pain, I believe, more than any faith that has been thought up over millions of years (or 6,000, if you're a believer). And now finally, after thousands of years of persecution and pain, they have their own country. And what do they do?

Marginalize, insult and deride half their own species.

Now, I'm all about freedom, and, having a Jewish parent, I am more than empathetic to Jews being able to be who and what they want to be. But give me a god damn break. Controlling women is not the way to go. Especially since those nutty Muslims already have a corner on that market. So, Jews, you're the new Muslim?

Final note, lifted from this page: http://failedmessiah.typepad.com/failed_messiahcom/2007/02/rabbis_its_the_.html

A few months ago in Australia a woman was raped. The head Australian Islamic Imam said that the woman wasn't garbed in the traditional Islamic garb, so she provoked it and the man was not to blame. His actual wording was

'If you leave meat out in the market, do you not expect the cats to eat it?'

Grey Area Defcon 3

For all my love of learning, acquiring and assimilating information, I have lately found myself in an odd place. It has tainted my job performance, my ability to write music, my concern over the country's future, my play-writing sensibilities; everything. And that place I call the Grey Area.

Politically, I'm a simple liberal. I have no doubt which party best represents my world view and anxiously follow the electoral college projections and various other polls. And, while I am heartened by the strong possibility of an Obama administration, I am, for the first time, deeply disheartened by the vast ugliness that has surfaced from both campaigns - although ultimately I have to give the title to the Republicans. This time around, there is no swift-boating; there's accusations of Obama being Muslim or an Arab or related to a terrorist because of a very unusual middle name. There's people carrying stuffed monkeys with Obama stickers on them; there's people putting on Ayers as if a "washed up terrorist" (McCain's words) is remotely relevant now or, worse, more important than domestic and international policy. And yet these morons who chant 'terrorist' really believe that. And they really live in the same country. And they don't mind splitting the country in two. The only thing they don't do is use the word they all seem to want to: nigger.

And that distresses me. It angers me, certainly, but it saddens me far more than it pisses me off. It actually trumps the shame I felt when word of torture came out a few years back. And that pulls me out of the whole process. I can't be that polar to support beating up or congratulating either side.

And, here on the myspace front, there was a blog that I participated in until a few weeks ago. It was often referred to as 'the atheist blog' written by a faceless fellow called Human Evolution. Not only am I liberal, but I'm an atheist on top of it, y'see. I met quite a few friends there - more on the non-believing side than the believing side, but smart people on both sides. And then it got wacky and polarizing. Whereas I like to contribute humor wherever I can, I do not discriminate. Both sides need to have stabs of funny. But somewhere along the line, at least three fundamentalist atheists got whacked out entirely, worse than any religious people I had engaged with. There was no room for moderation, and so I just quit.

And at work, there's a secretary who talks to herself all day and swears constantly. Today's ringer was 'if he makes me do that again, I'll cut his balls off.' For a year, I endured her garbage. Finally, I complained. The very next day, she listened quite closely to me, took a comment out of context, and complained about me. She got a phone call. I got a phone call. And so I give up there, as well. Justice, even in the workplace, seems to be far more of a polarized myth than I wanted to believe.

In the theater world, I have been approached by someone looking for direction on how to get into theater. Why did she want to be an actor, I asked. Because, she said, I am good looking.
Occasionally, I can muster enough focus to put together a video or two, which I am glad to do. I so enjoy making people laugh, or at least say aloud, "oh no that is wrong," as my girlfriend did for my Steven Hawking video. It was a nothing bit of nothing, but I enjoyed it. Naturally, one of my oldest friends has to pipe up and say he came up with the idea years ago. Thanks, pal. You're the best.

I'm tired.

Commuter Blues

In my day, I am most reflective and contemplative during my commute to and from work. It's at these times where I can really just think, with no work or creative or personal obligations to snap at the heels of my thoughts. Unfortunately, at the very moment I can really have some great thoughts, there's people all over the damn place.

I don't know where they come from. But they are almost always in my way.Well, no, I think they are in my way, but they are not really in my way. For all I know, I am in their way. Well, no. I'm not in their way. They are definitely in mine.

The people I'm talking about are the ones waiting for the train on the platform, and when the train arrives, they stand not to the side of the door - you know, so people can get off the train - but directly in front of it. In the city the size of Chicago, with millions of people travelling to a central location every day, how do you not know that if you let people get off a train, you can get on faster? Apparently, it's possible, as every day, there's the same dead-eyed wonders standing in front of the train doors at the Clark and Lake station, seemingly unaware that people do things such as disembark.

If you're one of these people, please believe that I mean no offense. But shoot yourself. You would be doing the economy a favor - and at the moment, it needs as many favors as it can get.I'm all about structure and respect when it comes to lots of people walking around. Escalators = stand on the right, pass on the left. Like roads. Hallways = walk on the right. Like, you know, roads. Now, the people I run into in the morning are literally the people I run into in the morning. These brain stems must think that every bit of pavement is their personal Autobahn, and routinely I have to brace myself with 'football shoulder' just so I'm not knocked around like a pinball.

My three defenses: (1) Cigarette. No one will bump into you if they notice you have a small amount of fire at the end of your hand. I generally don't smoke on the street; but I do light a cigarette. (2) Cell phone. People don't like people who walk and talk on their cell phone; they are repulsed (because the conversations are always so woefully uninteresting) and so they move out of the way. If you see me on the street with my cell phone, chances are I'm not talking to anyone at all. I'm just walking in a straight line. (3) Tourist. I pretend to be a tourist sometimes, and will look up at the big ol' buildings. People won't run into you if you're looking away. Like wild animals, eye contact is a challenge to do battle. So I don't make any. So if you see a guy not smoking, not talking on his phone, or not looking at anyone, come up and say hi. I probably won't hear you, but I will appreciate the effort.

By the time I get to work or home, I am a defensive, miserable ball of neuroses. And I have forgotten all manner of contemplation or reflection that I had achieved. Like a dream after you wake up, my wisdom just fades into non-memory.

And I wonder what went wrong.